Aliyah Chronicles #7: Assertive Israelis

Israel is not always an easy place. But when it's good, it's really good.

Shana, the hospital midwife, told me in a stern voice to sit down. I was peeking into the hospital offices, hoping someone official would notice me and call my name. I'd been waiting 45 minutes to meet with the doctor to review my sonogram. A recent immigrant from America, I was five days overdue with my first Sabra.

"We will call you in when we're ready. We didn't forget about you," she glared at me as if I'd committed a crime, and then quickly ushered a laboring woman down the hallway to the delivery rooms. She supported the woman with her arms, and murmured softly in Hebrew.

I sat down, defeated and angry. I just wanted to know what was going on. There was no sign-in list, no electronic numbers to be called. Just a bunch of people sitting in a hospital waiting room without a particular order hoping to be called in to the doctor's office. How did they know who should be called first? I could be waiting all afternoon. Couldn't she at least speak to me in a soothing voice?

The last time I tried to be assertive, it took me 30 minutes to work up the courage to storm the doctor's office, and then -- the doctor yelled at me. "Please sit down and wait your turn!" But when is my turn?

Really Good

An hour after finally seeing the doctor and leaving the hospital, I returned to the maternity ward to find Shana. I made my way again to the inner offices, this time with fierce determination.

I could barely speak. Shana put her papers down and ran over to me. "Is everything okay?" she said looking me over and eyeing my husband balancing a suitcase and two bags. "I thought the doctor sent you home?"

"I think this is it," I mumbled between deep breaths.

She quickly grabbed hold of my arm and led me to her office.

"Great! How exciting!" She smiled at me as if I was her sister. She hurried a new mother out of a birthing room, and instructed the cleaners to quickly prepare the room. She stayed with me until the end of her shift, and then vowed to visit me the next day.

The next night, Shana came to see me.

"Mazal Tov! I heard it went well. You look great. Let me see her!" She chatted with me for ten minutes before returning to her post.

And that's when it struck me.

Whenever I really needed attention and help, there were no lines, no stern voices, no confusion, no waiting. I was the center of the world, a member of the family. There were no doubts.

The following week, my Israeli neighbor, Ronit, knocked on my door.

It was motzei Shabbat. I was sprawled out on the couch with my week-old baby stretched out in my arms. Playmobil pieces and legos were strewn across the tile floor, and the dining room table was covered with aluminum food tins and stray pieces of foil.

When she entered, I jumped up quickly and tried to clear the jackets and puzzles pieces off the easy chair, but she brushed me aside. She grabbed the jackets and hung them up. Then she surveyed the mess while asking me in Hebrew how I was feeling.

Moments later, her husband arrived with their three kids and a bottle of scotch. He had come to drink a l'Chaim with my husband on the birth of our new baby.

Ronit, noticing the dishes piled high in my two sinks, grabbed a sponge.

"No! No!" I pleaded, "I'll clean the dishes after I put the kids to sleep."

But she was already pouring the soap over the dishes. "I want to clean them," she insisted, scrubbing away. "It makes me happy to do this."

I appealed to her, "I have a lot of energy, thank God. I want to do the dishes. Really!"

But she glared at me as if to say, "Do you really think I believe that?!"

My husband was laughing in the living room, pouring another shot for our neighbor. I handed him the baby and ran back to the kitchen to put the dishes away.

"No, no. Sit down," my neighbor scolded me.

But how could I sit down while she cleaned the sticky gook off my dishes, pulled the peas and rice off the drain, and threw away the green bread that had been left out all week? It was a disgrace!

And then, as fast as she came, she left.

I looked around my sparkling kitchen, and was secretly glad my neighbor had ignored my pleas. My husband wiped a tear from his eye.

"What nice people," he mumbled softly.

"Yeah..." I concurred, enjoying the tranquility that comes with a clean kitchen. And in that moment, I decided that chaotic waiting rooms and long lines were not so bad after all. Indeed, I benefited greatly, and began to appreciate my onsite training in Israeli assertiveness.

In fact, with greater training, I could be more like Ronit, my neighbor -- a person that uses her assertiveness skills to do good deeds.

Israel is not always an easy place. But when it's good, it's really good. And that "good" is what makes life here very special.

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About the Author

Tara Eliwatt has an MFA in Playwriting from Columbia University. She has written and directed plays in the Jewish community for the last six years as well as taught drama to elementary and high school-aged girls. Her story, "Racing for My Father," was recently published in Ruchama K. Feuerman''s book, "Everyone Has a Story," published by Judaica Press. She made Aliyah with her family this August 2008.

Visitor Comments: 8

(8)
Bonnie,
March 15, 2009 12:06 AM

Wonderful!

Tara-
I so enjoyed your article and being updated on your life in Israel. A very good reminder of ahavas yisroel and the struggle to move beyond our own nature. I hope you keep writing and sharing your thoughts, as we can all benefit from your insights! Hatzlacha and miss you!

(7)
Kira,
March 12, 2009 9:59 AM

Mazel Tov!

Great insight - using assertiveness for good.
May your Sabras learn to do that, and grow up treating all Jews as "part of the family".

(6)
Shraga,
March 12, 2009 2:36 AM

We need more stories like this.

Life in Israel can be challenging. Thanks for showing us the need to see the other perspective.

(5)
Chaya K.,
March 11, 2009 3:09 PM

Good!!

Your last sentence is the best and very true!!
Thank you and mazal tov for the baby!!

(4)
lynn finson,
March 11, 2009 2:16 PM

You did it again!

Tara, you have really learned to view things with perspective. Your article is so real and so true to life. A pleasure to read and always with a message, that's what I like about you!

(3)
raye,
March 11, 2009 1:57 PM

I agree that special "good"dilutes the rough spots

Being a playwright like Tara, helps me over the rough spots that I still experience after four years since making Aliyah. It was my disenchantment with the academic world that made a playwright out of me. What a wonderful world it would be if everyone could iron out their rough spots by writing.

(2)
Joseph Wahba,
March 11, 2009 9:04 AM

Mazal Tov

Mazal Tov to you and your entire family. A very inspiring story.

(1)
Binny B.,
March 11, 2009 8:36 AM

Not only did it bring a tear to your husband's eye, it brought a tear to my eye! How fortunate you are to be able to SEE, and ENJOY such GOODNESS in Eretz Yisroel. Wishing you all the best for many more good, very good, and GREAT interactions with your fellow Israelis!

I just got married and have an important question: Can we eat rice on Passover? My wife grew up eating it, and I did not. Is this just a matter of family tradition?

The Aish Rabbi Replies:

The Torah instructs a Jew not to eat (or even possess) chametz all seven days of Passover (Exodus 13:3). "Chametz" is defined as any of the five grains (wheat, spelt, barley, oats, and rye) that came into contact with water for more than 18 minutes. Chametz is a serious Torah prohibition, and for that reason we take extra protective measures on Passover to prevent any mistakes.

Hence the category of food called "kitniyot" (sometimes referred to generically as "legumes"). This includes rice, corn, soy beans, string beans, peas, lentils, peanuts, mustard, sesame seeds and poppy seeds. Even though kitniyot cannot technically become chametz, Ashkenazi Jews do not eat them on Passover. Why?

Products of kitniyot often appear like chametz products. For example, it can be hard to distinguish between rice flour (kitniyot) and wheat flour (chametz). Also, chametz grains may become inadvertently mixed together with kitniyot. Therefore, to prevent confusion, all kitniyot were prohibited.

In Jewish law, there is one important distinction between chametz and kitniyot. During Passover, it is forbidden to even have chametz in one's possession (hence the custom of "selling chametz"). Whereas it is permitted to own kitniyot during Passover and even to use it - not for eating - but for things like baby powder which contains cornstarch. Similarly, someone who is sick is allowed to take medicine containing kitniyot.

What about derivatives of kitniyot - e.g. corn oil, peanut oil, etc? This is a difference of opinion. Many will use kitniyot-based oils on Passover, while others are strict and only use olive or walnut oil.

Finally, there is one product called "quinoa" (pronounced "ken-wah" or "kin-o-ah") that is permitted on Passover even for Ashkenazim. Although it resembles a grain, it is technically a grass, and was never included in the prohibition against kitniyot. It is prepared like rice and has a very high protein content. (It's excellent in "cholent" stew!) In the United States and elsewhere, mainstream kosher supervision agencies certify it "Kosher for Passover" -- look for the label.

Interestingly, the Sefardi Jewish community does not have a prohibition against kitniyot. This creates the strange situation, for example, where one family could be eating rice on Passover - when their neighbors will not. So am I going to guess here that you are Ashkenazi and your wife is Sefardi. Am I right?

Yahrtzeit of Rabbi Moses ben Nachman (1194-1270), known as Nachmanides, and by the acronym of his name, Ramban. Born in Spain, he was a physician by trade, but was best-known for authoring brilliant commentaries on the Bible, Talmud, and philosophy. In 1263, King James of Spain authorized a disputation (religious debate) between Nachmanides and a Jewish convert to Christianity, Pablo Christiani. Nachmanides reluctantly agreed to take part, only after being assured by the king that he would have full freedom of expression. Nachmanides won the debate, which earned the king's respect and a prize of 300 gold coins. But this incensed the Church: Nachmanides was charged with blasphemy and he was forced to flee Spain. So at age 72, Nachmanides moved to Jerusalem. He was struck by the desolation in the Holy City -- there were so few Jews that he could not even find a minyan to pray. Nachmanides immediately set about rebuilding the Jewish community. The Ramban Synagogue stands today in Jerusalem's Old City, a living testimony to his efforts.

It's easy to be intimidated by mean people. See through their mask. Underneath is an insecure and unhappy person. They are alienated from others because they are alienated from themselves.

Have compassion for them. Not pity, not condemning, not fear, but compassion. Feel for their suffering. Identify with their core humanity. You might be able to influence them for the good. You might not. Either way your compassion frees you from their destructiveness. And if you would like to help them change, compassion gives you a chance to succeed.

It is the nature of a person to be influenced by his fellows and comrades (Rambam, Hil. De'os 6:1).

We can never escape the influence of our environment. Our life-style impacts upon us and, as if by osmosis, penetrates our skin and becomes part of us.

Our environment today is thoroughly computerized. Computer intelligence is no longer a science-fiction fantasy, but an everyday occurrence. Some computers can even carry out complete interviews. The computer asks questions, receives answers, interprets these answers, and uses its newly acquired information to ask new questions.

Still, while computers may be able to think, they cannot feel. The uniqueness of human beings is therefore no longer in their intellect, but in their emotions.

We must be extremely careful not to allow ourselves to become human computers that are devoid of feelings. Our culture is in danger of losing this essential aspect of humanity, remaining only with intellect. Because we communicate so much with unfeeling computers, we are in danger of becoming disconnected from our own feelings and oblivious to the feelings of others.

As we check in at our jobs, and the computer on our desk greets us with, "Good morning, Mr. Smith. Today is Wednesday, and here is the agenda for today," let us remember that this machine may indeed be brilliant, but it cannot laugh or cry. It cannot be happy if we succeed, or sad if we fail.

Today I shall...

try to remain a human being in every way - by keeping in touch with my own feelings and being sensitive to the feelings of others.

With stories and insights,
Rabbi Twerski's new book Twerski on Machzor makes Rosh Hashanah prayers more meaningful. Click here to order...